


I Wasn't Made For Prison

by awoogah123



Category: Him Series - Sarina Bowen & Elle Kennedy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crack, Fluff, Gay Sex, Handcuffs, M/M, Post-Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28769769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awoogah123/pseuds/awoogah123
Summary: “Next time,you’rewearing the cuffs.” I look after him with wide eyes -he wants a next time?Jamie and Wes test out their new handcuffs.
Relationships: Jamie Canning/Ryan Wesley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	I Wasn't Made For Prison

Wes walks into the room, a grin on his face and a cardboard box tucked underneath his arm.

“You look very chirpy,” I observe, dragging my gaze away from the TV and up at my husband. Wes’s smile grows. “Good practice?”

“It was okay,” Wes shrugs, throwing himself onto the sofa beside me. His stare bores into the side of my face, grin so wide it takes up his whole face.

“You gonna tell me why you’re grinning like the Cheshire cat, or…” My own mouth breaks into a wide smile just because.

“It came,” Wes says, shaking the box in my face. I frown a little, he’s looking at the box as if I should _know_ what it is. I do _not_ know what it is.

“What came?” I ask slowly, evoking a giant sigh from Wes.

“ _You know_ ,” he says, widening his grey eyes. I shake my head. “The--” he pauses, looking around the apartment as if someone is hiding, which I guess wouldn’t be too unheard of when it comes to Blake, “ _cuffs_.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Now _I’m_ grinning like the freaking Cheshire cat.

“They came?” I repeat excitedly.

“Uh-huh,” Wes grins, shaking the box in front of my face - the contents make a rattling noise. “And I don’t know about you,” Wes mutters, dropping his gaze as he absentmindedly picks at a loose piece of tape on the box, “but I’m _kind of_ in the mood to try them out.”

“Huh,” I say, chewing my bottom lip, trying to play it cool. “I mean, I guess I’m _kind of_ interested.”

“Kind of, huh?” Wes asks, eyes crinkling as he grins. “Your blush tells me otherwise.”

Oh shit, I’m blushing?

“Okay, I _really_ want to try them,” I blurt out, turning to him with wide eyes.

“Me too, Canning,” he says, leaning forward and kissing me on the lips. “Me too.” And as he murmurs against my lips, my dick stirs.

“C’mon,” I say, jumping up from the sofa. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” I waggle my eyebrows at him and he jumps up from the sofa with more speed from him than I’ve seen the whole season.

Taking my hand in his, he leads me down the hallway. A couple seconds later, we’re sprawled across our bed, the sheets crinkling beneath us as we attack each other with our mouths.

“You feel so good,” Wes gasps as I grind up against him.

Our lips smash together in a passionate kiss and one of his hands snakes down to grab hold of my dick.

And then I remember what we’re supposed to be doing here.

“Aren’t we forgetting something?” I murmur, pulling my mouth away from his and nibbling his earlobe. He shudders.

“Fuck,” he mutters, reluctantly pulling himself away from me. He reaches over the edge of the bed and grabs the cardboard box from the floor. With agile hands, he rips the box open, tipping the contents onto the best.

“ _God_ ,” I mutter, voice dripping in awe as I pick up a pair of handcuffs. Proper steel handcuffs with just a tiny bit of padding on the inside. Wes picks up the ones meant for your ankles.

“Am I the best husband, or what?” Wes grins, dangling the cuffs in my face.

“The best,” I grin, testing the cuffs as I open and close them. “Where are the keys?”

Wes is quiet for a moment as he rummages through the box, he finally pulls out a small baggie with two sets of keys inside.

“Here,” he grins.

“So, baby,” I say, leaning forward and punctuating my words with a kiss to his perfect lips. “What are you in the mood for?”

“I need you inside me,” he rasps, his rugged cheeks flushing red. A grin splits out onto my face.

“Works with me,” I say, pulling him in for another kiss.

We kiss for another couple minutes until Wes slowly pulls away, he cups my ass.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, his breath hot against my cheek. “Let’s save it for the good stuff.” I turn to the two sets of cuffs that sit on the sheets between us and my heart rate picks up.

“Get naked,” I order.

Wes complies quickly, pulling his t-shirt over his head and revealing his perfect abs. Then he ducks down and pulls off his gym shorts _and_ boxers in one slick movement, his fully hard dick slaps his stomach. I’m basically _drooling_ over here.

“Don’t get shy on me, Canning,” Wes says, eyeing me up greedily. I rip my clothes off in record time, and then Wes and I sit across from each other, completely naked.

“I want to fuck you so much,” I say, my voice husky and low with lust. Wes’s cheeks redden.

“Put these somewhere safe,” he instructs, handing me the keys.

I take the keys and slide off the edge of the bed, retrieving my jeans that I just threw to the floor. I make a show of putting the keys in the right pocket of my jeans.

“All safe,” I say, patting the pocket for good measure. Wes smiles as I carefully lay my jeans over the back of our desk chair, careful that the keys _don’t_ fall out. I turn to Wes with a grin.

“Get your ass over here,” he says, patting the spot on the bed beside him. I hastily climb onto the bed beside him and grab hold of the first pair of cuffs - they’re for his wrists.

“You ready?” I ask, dangling the cuffs in his face.

“I was born ready,” he grins, reaching across and pulling me into a blistering kiss. We get distracted for a minute until I remember what the cool metal in my hand is; laying a hand on Wes’s abs, I ease him back onto the bed until he’s lying down. I drop my knees to either side of his hips, straddling him.

“Put your arms up,” I say. Wes reaches up, wrapping his hands around two of the headboard’s bars. He looks ridiculously hot already, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.

“Fuck, you’d be like the _sexiest_ cop ever,” Wes says as I lean over him, cuffing his wrists to the headboard. “You should totally be a cop. You could be like Scotty!”

I jerk away from him, brow furrowed in disgust.

“Please do _not_ bring up my older brother right now,” I say, shaking my head. Wes offers me a sheepish grin.

“I’m sorry,” he says, leaning up and kissing me on the lips. The muscles in his arms work as he pulls himself away from the headboard. _Fuck_.

“Stop doing that,” I mutter, pushing him back down. “I’ll come before I even get a chance to fuck you.”

Wes throws himself back, letting his head flop against the pillow. He grins up at me.

“Do I look sexy, Jamie?”

“You look like a fucking _Adonis_ ,” I whisper, bending down and licking a trail down his abs. He shivers beneath me.

When I finally reach his ankles, I do the same to them as I did to his wrists - cuff them to the rail at the foot of the bed. I stand up, admiring my work and Wes looks up at me, cheeks flushed as he grins at me, limbs stretched out in a spread eagle position.

“You’re so beautiful,” I say in a hushed voice.

“I want you,” he says, straining against the cuffs. I grin as I sink down in between his thighs, looking up at him through my lashes. He bucks his hips.

“You weren’t kidding, huh?” I murmur, sinking down low enough so that my breath tickles the engorged head of his dick. He bucks his hips again.

“Jamie, you’re _torturing_ me,” he complains.

“Isn’t that kind of the _whole_ point in the cuffs?” I say, blowing a warm breath over his dick. He shivers.

“ _Jamie_ ,” Wes whines, voice deep and scratchy. “I know you want _me_ ,” he says, giving my hard dick a pointed look. “So give it.”

“You really need more patience,” I say softly, bending down and dragging my tongue across the tip of his penis, picking up the precum. He lets out a strangled groan and it goes straight down to my balls.

“Patience is overrated,” he says, voice wavering as he lets out another groan.

“True,” I concede. I take the head of his cock into my mouth and give it a big suck, evoking another breathtaking moan from him. I go deeper, my mouth sliding down his dick.

I blow him for a little while, watching with enjoyment as he screws the sheets in his clenched fists.

“Get the lube,” Wes grits out. He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I pull off of his dick with a loud _pop_ and crawl across the bed. We keep a bottle of lube on the bedside table for easy access and I grab it up, slathering a couple of my fingers in the cool liquid.

Once positioned in between Wes’s legs, I lower my hand to his crease and he jerks away instinctively.

“Cold,” he mumbles, relaxing back against my fingers.

“I’ll warm you up,” I say, pushing the pad of my finger against his hole and grinning when the muscles finally relax.

Wes clenches his eyes shut as I finger him, and I’m dumbstruck by just how sexy he looks right now. His strong jaw is clenched, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he clenches his eyes shut. His cheeks have a beautiful flush to them, and a single bead of sweat slides down his temple.

I push another finger inside. A third. A fourth.

“I’m ready,” Wes gasps, bucking his hips as I massage his prostate. He groans loudly, the sound reverberating in my chest. Slowly, I pull my fingers out. Wes looks down at me in anticipation, his grey eyes glazed over with his lust and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. That face is almost enough to set me off. He lets out a low groan as he watches me rub my dick, slicking it up. I can’t take much more of this.

“You ready?” I ask, my fingers biting into his hips. He nods vehemently.

“ _Please_.”

I ease myself into him slowly and the pleasure of just being inside him is almost enough to take me over the edge. He’s so tight, so hot. So _perfect_. I buck my hips a little, teasing him, and he lets out a loud groan.

“Fuck me, Jamie,” he rasps.

“You want me?” I ask, surprised at how composed my voice is. My balls are _aching_ with the threat of relief but I shift around a little more, teasing him.

“More than anything,” he gasps, clenching his ass around my dick. A shiver runs down my spine. _Yes_ , teasing is fun, but fucking my husband is _way_ better.

I pull back almost completely before thrusting forward with such force I nearly come then and there. Wes screams, his grip on the sheets so tight that his knuckles have gone a ghostly white. I pull back again before thrusting forward, pounding him into the sheets.

I’m pretty sure these cuffs were the best invention ever.

“I’m gonna come,” Wes gasps when I pound into him again.

“Me too,” I grit out, thrusting into him. And that’s enough for Wes, hot spurts of cum spill out onto my hand that had been gripping his dick. The sight of him shivering through his pleasure is enough to set me off. I come a couple seconds after.

I love the after-sex cuddles just as much as the sex itself; granted, this one’s a little more peculiar seeing as Wes can’t _actually_ cuddle me back. But it’s still enjoyable.

“I’m pretty sure that was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Wes whispers into my hair, kissing me softly.

“Same,” I say, glancing up at him and smiling. He flashes me a blinding smile, and _oh my god_ , I am the luckiest guy ever.

We stay like that a little while longer before Wes starts shifting around, pulling his limbs against the cuffs.

“You okay?” I ask, slowly pulling myself away from him.

“They’re starting to ache,” he admits, chuckling slightly.

“I’ll go get the keys,” I say, sliding off the side of the bed.

I can feel Wes’s gaze on me as I make my way across the room, and I turn back to see him checking out my ass. I flash him a crooked grin.

I make my way to my jeans, which are exactly where I left them, and I slip my hand into the right pocket, because that’s where I left the keys, right? _Wrong_. My hand gropes the pocket for a little while before coming up empty handed.

“Try the other pocket,” Wes calls from the bed, unease creeping into his tone. I nod, slipping my hand into the other pocket, even though I _know_ I put them in the right pocket.

The pocket’s empty.

“ _Jamie_ …”

“They’ll be here somewhere,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. I glance back at Wes over my shoulder, he’s straining against the cuffs, trying to sit up as he watches me. His eyes are wide. “You saw me put them in the right pocket, right?”

“Right,” he says slowly.

I try the right pocket again, and then the left, and then the right _again_. Nothing.

“Jamie, you better fucking be pranking me right now,” Wes says, his usual confidence disappeared and replaced with panic.

“I’m not,” I say, my heart rate picking up. “You saw me put the keys in my pocket.”

“You’re hiding them!” he accuses.

“ _Where_?” I exclaim. “Up my ass?”

“Very clever, Jamie,” he says, shaking his head. “Trying to distract me with my favourite ass in the world? Well, it’s not going to work. Get the keys.”

“Can you not see me _looking_ for the keys?” I ask. I _wish_ I was pulling some asshole prank on him, unfortunately we really do seem to have lost the keys.

“Yeah, but that’s all part of the prank,” Wes says, but he doesn’t sound too sure of himself now.

“Ryan, I can promise you I am _not_ pranking you right now,” I say, spinning around to face him. His face blanches.

“Promise?” he asks quietly.

“Promise,” I say, resting a hand over my heart. “I swear on our _marriage_ that I am _not_ joking around right now. I can’t find the keys.”

“Oh, _fuck_!” Wes exclaims, flopping back against the pillows. “What are we supposed to do?”

“You think you could get out of them?” I ask. Wes’s head snaps up to look at me with wide eyes.

“Jamie, we bought these ones so they _wouldn’t_ break,” he says. “They’re like the fucking strongest ones on there.”

“We could use a tool?” I suggest.

“ _What_ tool?” he shoots back.

“I don’t know,” I mumble, a small smile creeping onto my lips. It’s not that I find this situation _funny_ , but I mean, I guess it _is_ pretty funny. Not that I’d be saying the same if I was in Wes’s position.

Wes lets out a loud bark of laughter, but it’s panicked and slightly hysterical. His face is bright red now.

“Fuck, Jamie,” he groans. “This isn’t _funny_.”

“I know, I’m not laughing,” I say as a chuckle rises from my chest, I fight to push it down but it slips out my lips. I mask it with a cough. Wes scowls at me.

“ _Jamie_!” he whines. “Help me.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I panic, dragging a hand through my hair. I start to pace the bedroom before I realise what I’m doing - stressing isn’t going to help _anyone_ right now. “Okay, we need to just calm down, relax--”

“Relax?” Wes exclaims. “I’m handcuffed to the fucking bed!”

“We’re not going to get anywhere if we’re stressing,” I say, fighting back _another_ fit of manic laughter. “Okay, I’m going to get dressed, I’m gonna take a look at the cuffs, and if I can’t undo them, I’ll look it up on Google. We can’t be the only ones that this happened to.”

“Okay, well hurry,” Wes sighs. “They’re starting to chafe.” I look at his wrists and wince, the padding isn’t doing much, if _anything_ \- the skin is rubbed red and sore.

I quickly get dressed, pulling on a hoodie and a pair of sweats instead of my traitorous jeans. I take a seat on the edge of the bed and start to pull Wes’s wrist before me, he winces.

“Sorry, baby,” I whisper, reaching forward and kissing his sore wrist. I take his wrist again, carefully this time, and look at the lock. There’s no lever, no button to press that will magically open the cuffs, just a small keyhole that glares at me mockingly.

“You see anything?” Wes asks, voice slightly strained.

“No,” I sigh, softly letting go of his wrist. “I’ll go look it up.”

I stand up from the bed, crossing the room to the desk where my phone is, and then there’s a knock on the door. My head jerks up, gaze snapping on Wes’s.

 _Knock knock_.

“We’ll just ignore it,” I say, turning back to my phone.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Wes groans, sounding close to tears. “It’s Eriksson, I told him to come round earlier, he said he’d take a look at the toilet.” My gaze snaps from Wes’s face to the ensuite that leads off from our bedroom, the flush broke last night.

“ _Eriksson_?” I repeat with a frown. “Your _hockey_ teammate is coming to look at our toilet?”

“His dad used to be a plumber or something,” Wes says, panicked. “He said he’ll be able to tell us what’s up.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” I ask. “You think he’ll go if we just ignore him?”

“No,” Wes shakes his head. “He’ll probably just let himself in. You need to get him to leave.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” I ask. It’s pretty hard to focus when a large Swedish man is trying to break our front door down.

“I don’t know,” Wes exclaims. “Just tell him I’m not here, or I’m asleep, or something.”

“You’re _asleep_?” I repeat, quirking a brow.

“Just go!” Wes shouts.

Turning on my heel, I rush out of the room, ensuring I shut the door behind me. _Fucking hell_ , is Eriksson trying to _break_ our door down?

“Finally,” Eriksson grins when I finally open the door. “What were you doing? Actually, I don’t want to know.” _No, you really don’t want to know_.

“Erm, is everything okay?” I ask, deliberately not stepping aside. He stands in the doorway, brow creased in a frown.

“Wes didn’t tell you?” he asks. “He asked me to take a look at your toilet, said the flush is broken.”

“ _Ohhh_ , yeah,” I say, feet glued to my spot on the floor. “Come to think of it, he _did_ mention that.”

“Are you okay?” Eriksson asks slowly, “You’re acting weird.”

“Weird?” I repeat. “ _How_?”

“I don’t know,” Eriksson shrugs, he gestures to me. “You’re just being… _weird_.”

“Oh.”

We stand there in an awkward silence, me making no attempt to move out of Eriksson’s way, and Eriksson just hovering in the hallway.

“So, are you going to let me in, or…”

“Let you in?” I ask, eyebrows pinching together.

“To look at the toilet,” he says, looking at me as if I’m spouting a second hand. Maybe if I keep on acting weird he’ll leave us alone…

“Oh, yes,” I say, slowly pulling the door open a little wider. “Come on in.” He flashes me another strange look before stepping into the apartment.

“Is Wes around?” he asks, glancing around the living room.

“He’s not home yet,” I lie.

“Seriously?” Eriksson asks, spinning around to face me. “His stuff is here.” He points to Wes’s hockey back which he has left thrown on the middle of the living room floor and I inwardly curse my husband’s poor housekeeping.

“Oh, did I say he wasn’t _in_?” I ask, forcing out a laugh. “I meant he wasn’t _awake_.”

“He’s asleep?” Eriksson asks.

“Completely out of it,” I nod. Eriksson shifts his weight from one foot to another, I’ve never seen the guy look so uncomfortable before.

“So, that toilet?” he prompts. “Wes said it was the ensuite.”

He’s heading down the hallway before I can even realise what’s happening. I let out a startled yelp and run to catch up with him. I throw myself in front of him.

“Jamie,” he takes a step back. “What the fuck are you doing?” I take a moment to realise what I actually _am_ doing. Why the fuck am I sprawled on the floor in front of him?

“Oww,” I say, clutching my left ankle. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, his expression completely befuddled. “I mean, you _did_ just throw yourself on the floor right in front of me.”

“That’s true,” I say, standing up slowly with a sheepish chuckle. “Maybe this isn’t the best time for you to look at the toilet.”

“Why?” Eriksson asks, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You got a dead body in there, or something? Is that why you’re acting so weird?” _If only it was that simple_ …

“You’re funny,” I say, forcing a chuckle.

He looks at me a moment longer as if waiting for me to say something before shaking his head. He sidles past me, making his way down the hallway.

“Eriksson!” I shout. If I can’t _stop_ Eriksson, I should at least alert Wes - not that he can actually _do_ anything. “Matt Eriksson, you are walking down my hallway!”

“Jamie, are you on drugs?” he asks, stopping briefly to turn and face me. He looks _seriously_ confused.

When I don’t answer, he carries on walking toward the bedroom door.

“You’re right outside the bedroom!” I shout, hoping my voice is loud enough for Wes to be able to hear. Eriksson shoots me another confused look before putting his hand out, he grabs ahold of the door handle, starts to pull it down--

“Jamie, don’t you fucking _dare_ let _anyone_ open that door!” Wes calls from inside, his voice sounding eerily similar to how it did when we were thirteen years old.

Eriksson’s hand drops from the handle, he turns to face me.

“Jamie, what the fuck is going on?” he asks.

“He’s shitting,” I blurt out. I hear Wes groan on the other side - it’s not _my_ fault that I’m not a natural liar.

“ _Shitting_?” Eriksson repeats.

“Yes, he’s shitting,” I confirm. “He’s feeling pretty ill, that’s why now’s not a great time.”

“Sorry, just to get this straight,” Eriksson shakes his head. “Wesley is _shitting_ in your _broken_ toilet?”

“Strange, huh?” I force out a chuckle. I’m about to spout some other bullshit when Wes starts to shout.

“Jamie, get in here right now!”

“I’ll just be a minute,” I tell Eriksson. I open the door the tiniest amount and slide into the room. Wes is in the exact same position as earlier, except his wrists and ankles look _significantly_ more red now.

“What the fuck, Jamie?” he hisses.

“I tried to get him to leave,” I argue. “He just came straight in. What was I _supposed_ to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Wes says sarcastically. “Slam the door in his face!”

“That would be rude,” I point out.

“ _This_ is rude,” Wes shouts, pulling against the cuffs. “The fact that the keys are missing is rude!”

“Wes, what am I supposed to do?” I ask, stepping toward the bed. “I can’t just leave him in the hallway--”

“Guys?” The door swings open.

I’m not sure who screams louder - me, Wes, or Eriksson.

Scratch that, _definitely_ Wes.

“Oh my fucking god!” Eriksson shouts, shielding his eyes.

“Why are you in here?” Wes shrieks, voice uncharacteristically squeaky.

“I was getting bored waiting,” Eriksson admits sheepishly. “What the _fuck_ are _you_ doing?” Eriksson says, slipping his fingers slightly apart and peeking through, as if things would be _any_ different. Wes moves as if to try and cover himself up but then realises he’s still chained to the bed.

“Jamie,” he whimpers.

Looking around, my gaze lands on Wes’s t-shirt that is strewn across the floor, I snatch it up and place it over Wes. He almost looks decent - _almost_.

“Who does this when they’ve asked someone to come round?” Eriksson asks, gesturing to Wes.

“In all fairness, I didn’t know you were coming round,” I point out. “And we’re not doing this on purpose, Wes is stuck.”

“ _Stuck_?” Eriksson repeats, fully pulling his hand away from his eyes. His face splits into a shiteating grin, “You’re shitting me!”

“No,” I say solemnly, “we can't find the key.”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Eriksson exclaims, bursting out laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

“ _No_!” Wes yells, sounding extremely panicked. “Why the fuck do you think I’d be lying like _this_ in front of _you_ if we were joking?”

Eriksson’s laughter dies down a little, his face almost looks _serious_. He slowly turns from Wes to me, and then back again.

“You’re not joking?”

“We can’t find the keys anywhere!” I say, running a shaky hand through my hair. “I don’t know what the fuck we’re supposed to do.”

“Can’t you break them?” Eriksson suggests.

“I deliberately bought extra strong ones,” Wes mutters, dropping his gaze to the bed. Eriksson barks out another laugh.

“How long have you been stuck for?”

Wes shrugs, turning to me, his eyes wide and desperate.

“A while,” I speak for him. “At least twenty minutes since we, erm, _finished_ …” Eriksson opens his mouth as if to ask something, but stops himself with a shake of the head.

“I don’t want to know,” he murmurs. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, “I mean, I’ve looked on Google, but it’s not all that helpful.”

“Whatever we do, can we hurry the _fuck_ up?” Wes calls. “This fucking hurts.” I glance down and sure enough his ankles and wrists have been rubbed raw, he pulls against the chains.

“Stop doing that, baby,” I say, lowering my voice. I rub a soothing hand over one of his sore ankles, “You’re gonna make it worse.”

Wes looks up at me, his grey eyes misty - he looks pretty close to tears.

“ _Please_ get them off,” he says again.

For a moment, I forget that we’re not alone… and then Eriksson bursts out laughing. Our gazes snap to him.

“I’m sorry, Wes,” Eriksson splutters through his laughter, “but this is _really_ fucking funny.”

“It’s not,” Wes says solemnly. “I’m gonna die here.”

“Okay, you might be being a _tad_ overdramatic,” I say, giving Wes’s ankle a soft squeeze. “We just need to think about this in a logical way. Eriksson, you got any ideas?”

“ _Me_?” Eriksson’s eyes widen. “How am _I_ involved in this?”

“Well, you literally just barged in,” I say, gesturing to the open bedroom door.

“True,” he concedes. “But I don’t know what you think _I’m_ gonna do.”

“You’ve never used handcuffs before?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. Wes whines beside me.

“Sure, I’ve used handcuffs before,” Eriksson nods, “but they were those shitty little fluffy ones. Not _those_ ,” he points to the cuffs on Wes. “Did you freaking rob a _cop_?”

“I got them online,” Wes grits out.

“What? And they didn’t give you a _key_?” Eriksson asks, eyes widening.

“Oh, they gave us keys,” Wes says. “Jamie over here _lost_ them.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Eriksson says, turning to me with a laugh. “You lost the fucking keys?”

“I did _not_ lose them!” I argue, “Ryan, you _saw_ me put them in my pocket.” I flash Wes a stern look.

“Well, they’re not in the pocket now, are they?” Wes snaps back.

“No,” I sigh, “but you _saw_ me put them in. It’s not my fault if they’ve disappeared--”

“Oh my god, both of you shut up,” Eriksson groans, dragging a hand over his face. “You sound like my daughters. They’re _four_.”

Wes mumbles something under his breath before rolling his head and turning the over way. I scowl, my arms crossed over my chest.

“You, stop scowling,” Eriksson says, pointing at me, “being grumpy doesn’t suit you. And Wes, stop fucking sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” Wes grumbles.

“You are, and no one can take you seriously because you’re chained up to your bed naked,” Eriksson says. I can’t stop the chuckle that slips out, Wes looks even _more_ pissed. Not that I can blame him.

“So, you got any ideas?” I ask, reaching over and adjusting the t-shirt over Wes’s crotch, it slipped a little when he moved.

“You got a tool box?” Eriksson asks from his spot in the doorway.

“Yeah,” I glance back at Wes. “It’s in the cupboard in the living room. I’ll go get it.” I jump off the bed and slink past Eriksson into the hallway. _God_ , when Wes brought home those handcuffs I really wasn’t expecting this to happen.

When I go back to the bedroom, tool box in hand, Eriksson gestures for me to open it.

“Got any bolt cutters?” he asks.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” I mutter, sifting through the tool box.

“ _Bolt cutters_?” Wes exclaims. “No fucking _way_ are you putting bolt cutters on me!”

“It’s not on you,” I point out, “it’s on the cuffs.”

“ _No_ ,” Wes shakes his head vehemently.

“Well, you want to get out of them, right?” Eriksson asks. “Unless you want us to call an ambulance, or something. Or maybe I could call some of the guys from the team, see what they think.”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ,” Wes snaps, eyes locking on Eriksson’s. Eriksson bursts out laughing.

“You sure?” Eriksson pushes, “I bet Riley could break those cuffs. Guy’s like the hulk.”

“ _Jamie_ ,” Wes whines, turning to me with desperate eyes.

“Just let me have a look, okay?” I say softly, taking the bolt cutters and making my way up the bed. Wes tenses a little as he looks at the tool in my hands. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

“TMI,” Eriksson calls, making an exaggerated retching sound. I jerk my head around, shooting him a glare, he raises his hands in surrender.

“Don’t move,” I instruct, taking the bolt cutters to the chain.

After a couple attempts of trying to get a good grip on the chain, I pull away momentarily with a sigh.

“I would offer to help,” Eriksson says, “but, you know, Wes is kind of, _naked_.”

“You guys shower together,” I joke, smirking as I look between the two of them. They both scowl at me. “Tough crowd,” I mutter, turning back to the task at hand.

“Hey, where did you say you put the keys?” Eriksson asks, stepping further into the room.

“In the right pocket of my jeans,” I tell him, giving the bolt cutters a good squeeze. _Jesus_ , are these cuffs made of concrete? “I checked all the pockets and they’re not in there.”

I don’t bother to look at what Eriksson is doing as he makes his way over to our desk. I carry on working on the cuffs, giving the bolt cutters an even _bigger_ squeeze.

“Is it working?” Wes asks, glancing up at his wrists.

“I’m sure it’ll work in a second,” I assure him. _I’m not sure it will_ …

“You said the _right_ pocket?” Eriksson asks.

“Yeah,” I glance over at him and see him holding my jeans, feeling the pockets from the outside. “What are you doing?”

He ignores me, continuing to grope the denim material. After a moment, he slips a hand inside the pocket, and with a slight frown he shoves his hand further in.

“You’ve got a hole in the lining,” he says. “The keys slipped through them.”

My cheeks flush red and I feel Wes’s glare boring a hole into the back of my head.

“Oh.” 

“Did you even look?” Eriksson asks, a grin tugging at his mouth. I don’t know why _he’s_ laughing, he’s about to witness my husband murder me.

“I looked!” I yell defensively, my voice squeaking a little. “I checked each pocket, like, ten times!”

“I felt it as soon as I picked them up,” he smirks, hand still buried in my pocket.

“Can you get them out?” Wes asks, his husky voice almost making me jump.

“Just give me a minute,” Eriksson says. I watch him intently, deliberately avoiding Wes’s gaze as Eriksson reaches into the lining.

After a minute, he pulls out the baggie.

“This what you’re looking for?” he smirks, waving the bag in our faces.

“Fucking unlock them _now_ ,” Wes grits out.

Eriksson chucks the bag over and I catch it quickly, my fingers fumble with the packet as I try to open it and when I finally do get it opened, the keys feel so small and flimsy I’d be surprised to see them open _anything_.

I crawl up the bed and crouch beside Wes’s head, slotting the key into the small lock. It takes a moment and a couple jiggles, but _finally_ , the cuffs open. I slide them off quickly and throw them to the floor.

“Oh my god,” Wes gasps, flexing his wrists. There are slight lacerations in the red skin and I wince in sympathy. “Hurry up and do my ankles.”

As Wes tries to get the feeling back in his hands, I make my way toward the foot of the bed and quickly unlock the cuffs in his ankles. He stretches his ankles with a groan.

My shoulders slump as I take a seat at the end of the bed, it only takes a minute for Wes to notice. Clutching the t-shirt to his crotch, he sits up, shuffling beside me.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers, very much aware of Eriksson’s huge presence watching us.

“I feel bad,” I admit, loosely taking one of Wes’s wrists and lightly rubbing my thumb over the sore spot.

“It’s not your fault,” he shrugs. I jerk my head to face him, eyebrows flying up. “That’s not what you were just saying,” I point out.

“Well, that was different,” he says. “That was when I was chained up. I wasn’t made for prison, Jamie.” He leans across and plants a small kiss on my cheek.

“You two have got to be two of the most _dramatic_ people I’ve ever met,” Eriksson snorts. We both glare at him.

Wes glances down at his chest which is still a little sticky and messy - my cheeks heat at the memory of before - and sighs.

“Guess I’m gonna go take a shower.” He stands up. It’s only when I notice that Wes is making his way across the room _stark_ naked that I realise something is up. Eriksson just stands there, eyebrows flying up to his hairline.

“Wes, I think you’re forgetting something,” I say, picking up the t-shirt from the bed and going to throw it at him. He waves me off.

“As you said,” he turns to Eriksson, “we shower together, right?” Eriksson splutters, shaking his head.

“You can try and act all cocky _now_ , Wesley,” Eriksson says, “but we _both_ saw you crying like a little bitch earlier.” I laugh.

Wes ignores him, making his way to the door, just before he steps over the threshold, he turns back to me.

“Next time, _you’re_ wearing the cuffs.” I look after him with wide eyes - _he wants a next time?_

“ _Anyway_ ,” Eriksson says, clearing his throat. He turns to me, “Where’s that broken toilet?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!! <3


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